


Bismarck

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Series: Cold Wind [2]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Minor Character Death, torture/interrogation stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drive to Bismarck from Fargo was a dull one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bismarck

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess I decided to make a series? This is Wrench and Numbers' first job together, picking up right where Professional Courtesy left off. Numbers still doesn't know ASL yet, but don't worry, he'll learn soon!

The drive to Bismarck from Fargo was a dull one. Almost 3 hours of snow covered nothing whirring past their windows and under their tires, with no conversation to break up the monotony. Numbers had a file open on his lap, reading and re-reading the details of the job they were being sent to complete. Apparently some schmuck working for a rival syndicate out of upstate New York had managed to cut in on some of Fargo's gun running, and had been captured by some of Fargo's people out in Bismarck. It was Numbers' job to interrogate him. He had no idea why Wrench was there at all. Numbers threw a glance at his silent driver. He knew there was more to this guy than met the eye, he'd seen it firsthand. He didn't know what kind of game was being played, and if it was Fargo or this Wrench fellow calling the shots. He resolved to keep alert and not let this fringe-wearing mute get the upper hand as they passed a worn wooden sign with white letters reading “Welcome to Bismarck”.

The two men found their motel and settled in on lumpy mattresses and tacky duvets. Numbers was going over the file for the millionth time when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, seeing Wrench hold up a pad of paper with something scribbled on it.

_So what's the plan?_

Numbers tossed him the folder, and started writing on the note pad as Wrench flipped through the dossier.

_Mark is already detained. We need to go in, find out which of our operations have been working for New York, kill the guy, mail his head back to his boss. Simple enough._

Wrench nodded, glancing back at the folder open on his lap. He had a look on his face that Numbers could not discern. Numbers tapped his partners leather fringe-covered shoulder.

_Something bothering you?_

Numbers could see Wrench hesitate, and it put him on edge.

_There isn't a photo in here. We don't know what the guy even looks like._

_He's already detained. He'll be the one strapped to a chair. We don't need his photo._

Wrench bit his lip and nodded. Numbers thought he looked sad, but wasn't sure what to make of it. He tucked that piece of information away, feeling more and more suspicious of his new partner.

_______________________

The next morning they drove to a cabin along the river, far outside of town. Two men in thick jackets trundled out to greet them. Numbers introduced his new partner to Mr. Rivers and Mr. Belt, who had been keeping an eye on their mark for them.

“Watch and learn, eh? Numbers is the best interrogator we got, you could learn a trick or two.” Mr. Belt ribbed Numbers lightly, and Wrench nodded vaguely at the talking man. Numbers would tell him what he'd said later.

Numbers pulled a black leather bag filled with medical tools and hammers out of the trunk and chit chatted with his associates for a while. As the men were leaving, Rivers caught Numbers by the arm.

“I'm sorry, man.”

“About?”

“I'm just sorry is all.” Rivers let go and stalked back to the car, a wide eyed Belt following him. Numbers watched them drive away until he couldn't see the car anymore. He had a bad feeling, like a heavy weight in his stomach. He slowly turned to the cabin. As he slowly climbed the front steps, he could see that Wrench looked solemn. Whatever was in that cabin was bad news, and it seemed to Numbers that everyone was in it except for him.

Numbers slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside the cabin. A hunched figure was tied to an office chair in the middle of the room, facing away from the door. Numbers strode over and twirled the chair around, and barked out a laugh. The hunched man looked up at Numbers' face, and scowled upon recognition.

“ _You._ ” he spat.

“ _Me._ ” Numbers' purred in reply, grabbing a folding chair and sitting down in front of his mark. He looked over at Wrench, whose face held a slightly confused and worried expression. Numbers shot him a vicious looking smile and turned to speak to the man in front of him.

“Been a while. Let's catch up. Who's working for you? What garages?” Numbers reached into the black leather bag, pulling out a scalpel.

“You're entirely soulless.” Numbers grinned even wider at that. He pressed the blade into the man's kneecap.

“Could be.”

_______________________

Two hours, a cracked jaw, and a pint of blood later, Numbers had his answers. The man in front of him was barely conscious, covered in blood, and wheezing. Numbers had deployed every trick in the book, ruthlessly beating and cutting into the man, even when he got answers he liked. He had to be ruthless, he justified to himself. Fargo was setting an example, and simultaneously testing Numbers. They did that sometimes, forcing you to kill people you knew, just to remind you that Fargo came first above all else. Numbers needed to prove that he understood that, because not understanding that would result in a blade in the gut and a shallow grave.

Wrench approached him, cowboy boots clicking slightly against the hardwood floor. Numbers turned, and had a notepad thrust into his face.

_Are we done? Did we get everything?_

Numbers nodded. Wrench turned his notepad back and scribbled on it a bit more.

_We gotta finish this. Head in a box and all, remember?_

Numbers nodded again, bending over to reach into his bag again. He pulled out a flat-head screwdriver, and placed a hand under the chin of the bleeding man in front of him. He looked the man in the eyes. Dark brown, just like his, lined with crows feet and thick brows. His gaze seemed to penetrate Numbers, making him feel hollow and guilty in an instant.

“Bye, Dad.”

Numbers jammed the screwdriver into the man's skull repeatedly, blood pouring on the floor in loud spatters. A wet sucking and cracking noise filled the cabin. Numbers stepped back to take in what he had done. His father's face was frozen in a blood stained expression of shock. Numbers imagined his face probably looked very similar. Wrench stepped closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

_You OK?_

Numbers grabbed the pen and pad from him.

 _I'm a professional. I'm always OK._ Wrench nodded at that with pursed lips.

_You go get the car warmed up, I'll get the head in the box. You did all the work on this one, I kind of feel bad._

_Thanks. I can't wait to get back to the motel and wash all this blood out of my beard._

Wrench barked out a laugh, and waved Numbers outside, grabbing a saw and turning to the corpse. Numbers was grateful Wrench had volunteered to do this part. Despite his father's accusation, Numbers wasn't quite soulless enough to do that part.

_________________________________

Numbers stepped out of the motel bathroom, patting his beard dry. His partner sat on the bed, watching a television show about wolves on mute with the closed captioning on and a notebook placed on the mattress in front of crossed legs. Numbers sat next to him, watching the wolves chase down an elk and tear into it. He felt a firm tap on his shoulder.

_Get all the blood out of your beard?_

Numbers chuckled. _Yeah, but my shirt is a different story. Gonna have to burn it, probably._

_Shame. It looked good on you._

_Everything_ _looks good on me._ Wrench chuckled and reached for the pen, but Numbers kept writing.

_You knew who he was to me._

Wrench's eyes went wide, sharply inhaling. He blinked a few times, then nodded slowly in an almost apologetic manner.

_It's OK, it's not personal. I understand._

_I couldn't say anything. Not allowed. I just had to make sure you did it._

_It's fine. Honestly, it's not so bad. Fargo did me a favor. I always wanted to be the one to kill him, and they gave him to me. More of a present than a test, if we're being honest._

Wrench sat very still, biting his lip and looking at Numbers. Numbers could tell that Wrench was trying to get a read on his new partner. After a moment, he finally put the pen to paper.

_Do you want to go get drunk?_

_God, yes._

 


End file.
